The Afternoon I Discovered What My Comb Could Do

It was one of those Sunday afternoons when I had absolutely nothing to do. My roommate had gone to her parents’ house until Monday, the rain was falling softly against the window, and I’d been sprawled on the bed for hours with my phone in my hand, with no plan more ambitious than letting time pass on its own.

I was scrolling through one of those apps where you end up swiping mindlessly, looking for something new and finding nothing at all. Memes I’d already seen, news I didn’t care about, photos of people I barely knew. I was about to toss the phone aside and take a nap when, almost by chance, a post appeared that had nothing to do with anything I’d been looking at.

It was a clip of porn between two women.

I kept staring at it longer than I’d expected to. It wasn’t a conscious decision; it was more like inertia, like when something catches your eye and your body reacts before your brain does. Without even realizing it, I’d already entered the account, and the account was packed with videos in the same style, one after another.

Well, whatever. Nobody can see me.

That first clip had awakened something. A specific warmth, low and definite, that I found hard to ignore. And I wasn’t going to waste a free afternoon, an empty house, and that feeling beginning to build between my legs.

I kept watching more videos, each one a little hotter than the last. Two girls kissing with an urgency that felt real, hands slipping under clothes, looks that said more than any words could. Each new scene made me wetter, until my panties started bothering me because they were so soaked.

I let one hand drift over the sheet, unhurried, and slid it down to my panties. I stroked over the fabric and noticed how wet I was, how hot everything felt down there. I made slow, circular motions over my clit, still with the cloth in between, while leaving on a video of two women using a long toy between them.

Watching them was hypnotic. I saw the toy going in and out, how they bit their lips, how they moved their hips to try for more. And as I watched them, a very simple idea lodged itself in my head: I wanted to feel something like that. I wanted something inside.

The problem was that I didn’t have any toy. I’d never gotten around to buying one, one of those things you keep putting off forever out of embarrassment or laziness. But the urgency was already too strong to ignore, and my mind, hot and unfiltered, started looking for solutions.

I scanned the room with my eyes, still stroking myself slowly, weighing everything I could see. And then, on the little piece of furniture beside the bed, I found it.

My comb.

It wasn’t just any comb. It had a long, smooth handle, medium thickness, and at the tip of the base a round little ball, like a small sphere meant to keep it from getting lost in hair. At any other time it would have been the most innocent object in the world. At that moment, though, it seemed designed on purpose for exactly what I was thinking.

I grabbed it with my legs trembling from pure anxiety. It was ridiculous to feel that way over a comb, but my heart was pounding like I was doing something forbidden, something I shouldn’t. I held it up in front of my eyes, turning it between my fingers, and I couldn’t help licking my lips as I imagined how it would feel inside me.

I licked it. From top to bottom, slowly, coating the handle with saliva, taking my time, enjoying the anticipation itself. Every second I delayed the next step made me more nervous, hotter, more impatient with myself.

I pushed my panties aside with one hand and, with the other, pressed the handle between my lips. I didn’t put it in right away. I let it caress me, sliding it up and down, feeling it get wet with everything my body was giving off. The smooth texture against that sensitive spot drew out a long sigh from me, one of those that come out all by themselves.

I played like that for a while, dragging the tip over my clit, pressing just barely, tracing circles until I couldn’t stand it anymore. Then, with one single motion, I shoved it in.

The jolt surprised me and I let out a loud moan, louder than I meant to. For a second it was discomfort, that feeling of being opened all at once. But it barely lasted. Almost immediately the discomfort turned into pleasure, a thick, deep pleasure that made me close my eyes.

I started moving it. I pulled it almost all the way out and pushed it back in, slow at first, feeling everything settle around the handle, feeling my body open to take it. With my free hand I caressed one breast, played with the nipple, pinched it between my fingers while I kept the rhythm down there.

Little by little I sped up. I pulled out halfway and drove it back in, faster, firmer, with less and less patience each time. I felt my legs shaking with every thrust, and the moans were already coming out before I could hold them back.

And then I discovered the best part of all. The little ball at the base of the comb, that tiny sphere that looked useless, hit the exact right spot every time it went in. A spot that, when it touched me, made me arch my back and let out a muffled whimper.

There. Right there.

I pulled it out to look at it for a second, slippery and shining with everything my body had given off onto it. My breathing was ragged, my hair stuck to my forehead, and a new idea was circling in my head. I didn’t want to keep lying down. I wanted to take control.

I set the comb on the bed, handle up, held it steady with one hand, and sat on top of it. The sensation of lowering myself slowly, of feeling it enter centimeter by centimeter under my own weight, left me breathless.

I started riding it. I rose and fell on the handle, setting the rhythm myself, taking it all the way in on each downstroke. It was a completely different sensation: now I decided the depth, the speed, every detail. With my free hand I yanked on my nipples, which were so sensitive that every tug ran through me like a current.

—So-o-o… good —I moaned out loud, not caring about anything.

It had been ages since I’d masturbated like that, with so much shamelessness, with so much hunger. Alone in that empty house, I could moan as much as I wanted, and I did. I almost wanted someone to hear me, for someone to know how good and how dirty I felt at that moment.

I bounced and bounced on the comb, and I could feel everything overflowing, even soaking the sheet beneath me. The pleasure gathered low in my belly, dense, getting closer and closer to something huge. I was on the verge of coming and I didn’t want it to end yet.

So I changed again. I let go of the comb, left it there for a second, and settled myself face-down, my face buried in the pillow and my ass lifted in the air. I reached back and slid it in again, this time from that angle.

It was brutal. In that position it went in deeper, touched places it hadn’t reached before, and the little ball knocked against that spot again and again. I shoved it in fast, hard, without stopping, while I smothered my moans into the pillow because I couldn’t even control the volume anymore.

The tingling in my stomach started building until it became impossible to ignore. I recognized that signal immediately: it was only a matter of seconds. I clenched my teeth against the fabric, sped everything up as far as my wrist could manage, and focused on that last taut string about to snap.

A few more thrusts and I came.

It hit in waves, intense, an orgasm that shook me from head to toe and soaked the sheets beneath me. I felt every muscle tighten and release, one surge after another, while my face stayed buried in the pillow and a long, trembling sound escaped my throat.

The comb slid out of me on its own, slick, shining, completely covered in everything my body had let go. My legs, which had heroically held on until then, simply gave out, and I let myself fall onto my side on the rumpled bed.

I stayed there for a good while, catching my breath, my heart pounding against my chest and a silly smile on my face. The phone was still playing videos next to the pillow, the rain was still falling outside, and I was still trembling slightly, still sensitive.

Definitely one of the best orgasms of my life.

I looked at the comb, abandoned among the sheets, and let out a soft laugh. I was never going to be able to see it the same way again. But above all, I made a very clear decision while my breathing slowly returned to normal: that same week, with no more excuses or embarrassment, I was finally going to buy myself a real toy. If a simple comb had managed to leave me like that, I didn’t even want to imagine what would come next.